


Rapture

by Nice_Valkyrie



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16727256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nice_Valkyrie/pseuds/Nice_Valkyrie
Summary: In Ishval, the distance between agony and ecstasy collapses.





	Rapture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hlwim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlwim/gifts).



The focus that makes Riza such an effective sniper still can’t block out everything. Lying on her stomach on the brutal stone floor of what recently became an Amestrian watchtower, she should be scanning the horizon for Ishvalans who managed to escape the morning’s strike. But all she can think about is the hand on the back of her thigh.

“You’re distracting me, sir.”

“From what, exactly?” says Kimblee.

His hand slides up.

“From my post. From the enemies I need to kill.”

“Are you suggesting I failed to fully clear my sector?”

The shadow he casts on the floor beside her is long and dark. “Anything’s possible, sir.”

There’s a pause.

“I disagree,” he says. “On your feet, cadet. Leave your rifle.”

He doesn’t scare her. The disturbing feeling in her gut as she stands could be any number of things: hatred, repulsion, simple nausea from her last meal. But not fear.

Kimblee leads her into the stairwell. The sun doesn’t reach here, and when he presses Riza into the bricks, they’re cold against the back of her head. Against her knuckles, as he twists her arms and pins them behind her.

“Stop this,” she tries to say, but her mouth is so dry it comes out as little more than a wheeze.

Kimblee shakes his head and smooths her hair from her face. “Do you really mean that?”

As his tattooed palm brushes over her waistband, Riza breaks out in a fresh, freezing sweat.

“I’m afraid I don’t believe so,” he says, slipping his hand beneath her uniform.

She’ll survive this. She has to.

His fingers move in and out of her easily, a wet refrain, _slick, slick, slick_. He’s watching her face. Riza wonders if exaggerating pleasure will end this faster or stir him to anger. Struggling can only get her hurt.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says.

He does something with his fingers that makes heat radiate from between her legs, like he’s put the baking sun inside her. “Good,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Will you be able to come?”

“That’s what you want?”

“Very much.”

That doesn’t seem so bad, though she squirms as Kimblee shoves another finger in. He laughs.

“I love seeing a woman orgasm,” he says. _Slick, slick, slick_. “For those few seconds she’s in a state of blissful, perfect vulnerability.”

He adds, “I think I could do anything to her at that moment and she would enjoy it.”

His fingers speed up. Now Riza knows she’s frightened, but it makes no difference. He’s coaxing a fervor from her body and soul, a terrible, trembling, burning current of desperation.

“My post,” she gasps.

“There are no Ishvalans left under your watch,” he says coldly. “I made sure of it.”

She’s helpless, her defenses crumbling under his attentions. His other hand cradles the side of her face.

“And if any do come crawling through my path, I’ll kill them too. I’ll kill all of them. All of—”

And then, just as the tension in her body reaches a breaking point, Kimblee slaps her hard across the cheek. The pain is breathtaking but Riza has no choice and whimpers as she comes on his fingers.

“Perfect,” he breathes, and his eyes are hard as iron. “How long was left on your shift, cadet?”

Her cheek feels like it’s on fire. Her knees are jelly. “Two hours, sir,” she whispers.

She recoils as he lifts his arm again, but he only traces the curve of her face. On the inflamed skin, his touch is unbearably tender.

“Let’s keep going, then,” he says.

***

Riza is out with him the next day. She stays hidden on the uppermost floor of the sole building still standing in the old market, gripping the smaller rifle appropriate for a close posting. She has no cause to fire it yet, but fidgets with the safety catch, making it click.

The sun slanting across her face hurts. She remembers the fond stroke of her burning cheeks, the advice to do better avoiding exposure.

Kimblee turned out to have equal use of both hands, and a switch of them was enough difference in sensation to break through the numbness that followed her orgasms. He forced her to come again and again, smacking her each time, until she broke and began to plead. After that, he touched her face exclusively, soothing the skin and wiping away her tears between each slap. He only stopped when a glancing blow struck her mouth, and the inside of her lip caught her teeth and began to bleed.

“My apologies,” he said. Then he kissed her, his tongue caressing the stinging cut, and left her to her work.

_Click, click, click._

There’s a sudden change in the air that makes Riza’s hairs stand on end, and then a blinding flash of light. The heat hits her face a second later, thick with dust and death, and the roar of destruction fills her ears. She shoulders the rifle. The raw flesh between her legs is suddenly screaming.

It takes a long time for the smoke to clear.

When Kimblee emerges at last, he looks messier than Riza has ever seen him. His hair is in disarray and smears of what is almost certainly blood sully his uniform. But he walks easily, with a carefree posture, and Riza imagines she can hear him humming. When he pauses to stretch his arms above his head, his face is alight with bliss.

_Click._

Kimblee looks up. He sees her.

He smiles.

 


End file.
